


Business of the Utmost Importance

by kioraxerxo



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: Desk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Historical Inaccuracy, MARITAL BLISS, Making Love, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Soft Porn, getting caught, this is just filth and purely for my own happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kioraxerxo/pseuds/kioraxerxo
Summary: Louis thinks, what a wonderful journey it is to fall in love with his wife.He appraises her strewn across his pillows— their pillows, eyes closed, breaths deep and long. She’s a wonder to behold in the dim morning light, when the blue blanket of dawn covers their bedroom in a state of in between. When there’s nothing else— no court, no treatises, no polite society— just Louis and Marie, drifting in a dreamlike state.
Relationships: Marie Antoinette/Louis XVI (Dress Up! Time Princess)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109





	Business of the Utmost Importance

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever noticed that in media set before the 20th century, upper class couples sleep in separate beds and have separate rooms? 
> 
> It was kind of like a status symbol at that time. Of course, your 21st century MC does not like this and would rather cuddle with her hubby.

Louis thinks, what a wonderful journey it is to fall in love with his wife.

He appraises her strewn across his pillows— their pillows, eyes closed, breaths deep and long. She’s a wonder to behold in the dim morning light, when the blue blanket of dawn covers their bedroom in a state of in between. When there’s nothing else— no court, no treatises, no polite society— just Louis and Marie, drifting in a dreamlike state.

He admires the way her bedraggled tresses spill across the covers, the way her eyelids flutter, how it casts little shadows across her cheeks.

She had a tendency to sleep on her stomach, he recently learned. He would naturally wake earlier than her, and in all the times he witnesses her sleeping form, she was always on her stomach, arms tucked beneath her pillow, face adorably smushed. In those moments, he finds it so hard to leave—he wishes he never has to.

It caused quite a scandal in the royal household when the King and Queen decided to share sleeping quarters. It was unheard of, especially for the pinnacle of nobility. Their marriage was not born out of love from the beginning, everyone knew that. Having separate bedrooms was a norm—expected even— for their situation.

But Marie was changed, drastically. Not just in her interests and motivations, but her relationships, it seems as well. She knocks at his bedroom door late at night a few moons ago in a state of undress. He couldn’t have been more baffled when he finds her— in her night shift, a pillow tucked under one arm, a candlestick in the other, yawning.

“My Queen, it is late. Is something the matter? Are you hurt?” He inquires, worried that something was amiss. Why else would she visit him at this hour?

She stares at him confused for a second, like she had found no sense in his words, like he was the one out of place.

“Your Majesty,” she starts, “Frankly, I find it utterly ridiculous that we have separate sleeping quarters. France can have you by day, I wish to keep you to myself at night.”

As she declares this, she places a kiss on his cheek and makes her way inside, places the candlestick on his desk, and unceremoniously plops on his bed.

Too disoriented from her actions, he stands by the open door as she burrows underneath his covers. She sits up and leans on the headboard, smoothing her hands down on the layers of blankets and looks at him.

“Auguste, what are you standing there for?” She chuckles and holds out her arms. “Come to bed.”

He blushes and turns to her, his wife of nearly a decade. His wife whom he has two children with. His wife who, for the first time in their years together, invites him to bed with her.

“O-of course.” He stammers and puts out the candles.

He gingerly lifts the covers and sits himself at the edge, unsure of his place in his own bed now that it housed her as well.

She looks at him before deciding to scuttle close, tucking herself in his arms and nuzzling his chest. He freezes. His ever observant wife notices this, and to his horror, pulls away a little.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, was I too forward?” She asks, shy now.

His heart wrenches when she addresses him so formally. Not here, not in this intimate space. He places his hand on hers and brings it delicately to his lips.

“No, no, forgive me. I never meant to make it seem like your presence is unwanted.” He smiles, “I always want you.”

He realises the weight of his words and stumble between his thoughts. Louis feels the blood rush to his face as he struggles to correct his implications.

“Here. I mean that is— I want you beside me. Physically! I mean— not in that sense, but also in that sense— I

He sighs and fights the urge to bury himself under the covers forever. He chuckles at himself and Marie joins him good-naturedly.

“Oh, Marie.” He shakes his head, “how you disarm me so.”

That occurred over three moons ago or so. And every night since then, she slept beside him, wrapped in his arms. Gone are the boyish hesitation and the nervous skittering inside his heart.

Undoubtedly, she belongs here, occupies every nook and cranny of this room. It was theirs.

Their first morning together was hilarious, of course. He recalls the scandalised faces of his servants finding himself and their Queen strewn across the covers completely naked in a rather compromising position.

For their own sakes, the servants have learned to knock.

The first hints of sunlight stream into the windows, refracted by the pattering raindrops, casting little iridescent orbs of color in their room. It was a little frigid, he thinks, and shuffles to pulls the covers higher on her shoulders.

He gets up to stoke the embers until it livens to a moderate size, bathing the room in warmth.

“My love,” he hears her small voice behind him, and his heart quickens at her endearment.

He stokes the fire a few more times before turning back to her. He couldn’t help but smile at her image— sleep laden eyes, cheeks pressed against the pillows, a graceful arm poking from underneath the beddings, reaching towards him.

He treads back and kneels beside her. “I’m sorry I woke you, Marie. It’s barely dawn. Go back to sleep.” He whispers, kissing her hand and tucking it back underneath the covers.

She pokes it back out to grab his arm and tug at him. “Not if you’re not in bed beside me.” She grumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

He lets her pull him back, anchoring himself as to not squash her as he rolls to her other side, tucking his legs back underneath the covers, leaning on the headboard. He feels her legs entangle between his own as her weight shifts and he props herself on his lap.

She daintily places her ear against his heart and smiles.

“It comforts me to hear that I can still make your heart race despite being married for a decade.” She chuckles.

“I don’t think I’m ever physically capable of not doing so with you, Marie.” He runs his fingers through her tangled locks of hair, parting it to one side.

She sits up, the covers falling from her shoulders.

He was mesmerised at the sight of her.

Her nightgown hung low on her chest, a shoulder slipping out from the sleeve, the cloth elegantly draped on her bodice. Her cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes laden with sleep, hair mussed and far from its usual coiffed perfection. The sunlight streaming through the windows behind her bathes her in an ethereal halo.

Louis felt like worshipping the goddess before him.

She rubs her eyes and smiles at him as she catches his loving gaze.

She caresses his cheek and traces her fingers down his chest as he shivers from her touch. Louis closes his eyes as he feels her lips leave kisses from his chest, up his neck, to his ear. His hands trail from her smooth thighs on either side of him. He bites his lip when he feels her teeth gently tug at his ear.

“I want you, Auguste,” her sultry voice flows into him, and he feels the blood rush below. Her cheeks pull into a little grin. “And I can feel that you want me too.”

“Always, Marie.” He plants kisses along her exposed shoulder. “Every waking moment, and even in my dreams, I want you.”

He tugs her nightgown off her shoulders and marvels at the way her skin glows before the morning light.

She sets a leisurely pace, rubbing herself against his lap as he continues to kiss her neck. He could feel her wetness despite the clothes separating their skin. It fills him with desire to know how much he affects her physically. She wants him. She wants him. She wants him.  
His hands lovingly caresses her breasts, gently, softly, as only a lover could. She teeters from his, leaning back and closing her eyes. His lips latch on to her teat, tenderly tugging the way she likes it. The way he knows how.

She whimpers and buries her fingers on his hair. He dares to open his eyes and look up at her— her small mouth agape in pleasure, cheeks flushed. He thanks the heavens for granting him such a wife.

She grips his shoulders and rubs more insistently against his length. He pulls away momentarily to take his clothes off, she does the same and haphazardly throws it across the room towards the door— hopeful that the sight of discarded clothing would signal the servants to leave them alone.

He chuckles at this. “We should really put a warning sign. I’m afraid that the servants would be too terrified to attend to us in the morning.”

She dismisses him with a little nip at his earlobe. “We’ll attend to each other then.”

He laughs and nuzzles her cheek. “You and I both know we’ll never get our day started that way, my love.”

“Hmm, perhaps you are right.” She smirks. “I am only capable of ridding you of clothes.”

“I feel the same way.” He smiles, pulling her back to him and peppering her chest with kisses. “Don’t get me wrong, you are a sight to behold when you are all dressed up, my Queen. But I find mind wandering to what’s underneath your majestic gowns.”

“Auguste!” She feigns shock and lightly flicks his shoulder, “how impolite of you, husband!”

He kisses her fervently, the kind that leaves the both of them breathless and wanting for more.

“Forgive me, dear wife. I can’t seem to control myself around you.” He smiles, daintily pecking her little petite nose.

“Even after so many years?” She raises her brow.

“Even more so.” He tells her, “Even more every day that passes.”

He pulls her against him and leans back on the headboard.

His hands guide her as she slides against his length, her slick desire coating his. He kisses her face, spilling all the quiet love and contentment he feels for her in each one.

“Inside me, please.” She calls to him, pleading and he would not refuse her. She positions herself as he guides himself inside her, slowly, leisurely, like they had all the time in the world.

She moans and careens back as he enters her. He feels his breath leave him as he fills her to the hilt.

“Oh, Marie.” He murmurs her name like a prayer on his tongue. “Marie.”

She grips his shoulders and buries her face in the crook of his neck, moving her hips to a steady rhythm, focusing on their pleasure and their pleasure alone. The feel of her holding him firmly, enveloping him in her wet warmth, and the languid pace she set, elicited a rather scandalous moan from deep inside of him, loud enough to travel through the walls.

They froze, eyes boring into each other, before giggling—choosing not to care if anyone heard them or not. They were the King and Queen of France. And they love each other deeply.

They’ve been caught before, during the early days of falling in love, when they could never get their hands off each other for more than a few minutes. His Interior Minister took notice of this. How the King and Queen walk arm in arm, outrageously leaning and whispering in each others ears in public, no less.

How the King would kiss his wife before leaving for a hunt, uncaring if the entire hunting party lies witness. How the Queen would absentmindedly hold and play with his hands in the dark as they watch an opera. How the two would stare at each other across a crowded hall, with unspoken desire in their eyes, an intimate conversation devoid of words.

“Preposterous! A complete lack of decorum!” Blaisdell would lecture him, but Louis let his words fly by overhead. He has been parted from his wife long enough. Needless to say, the poor Interior Minister learned to knock when he encountered a most obscene image upon entering the King’s study one afternoon. It took them a while to register that they weren’t alone in the room, and the horrified and faint minister stood there for a moment as the King did unspeakable things to the Queen perched on his desk with her skirts hiked all the way up to her face.

He was brought back when Marie resumed her ministrations, and he let his hands wander all over her body. Caressing and worshipping her skin. He whispered love into her ears, pouring all the secrets he kept close to his heart throughout the years—all the love for her he kept to himself. She’s heard it before, in the many times they have made love, but he will never tire of telling her.

He thrusts up, meeting her midway and she mewls. Louis watches her face as he plants his hands on her hips and takes control of the pacing. She lets out little sounds of unintelligible musings. She leans down and clutches him close, letting him thrust up into her.

The sounds she emit drives him deeper into lust. Out of spontaneous whim, he pulls her away and instructs her to lie on her stomach. A dazed smile creeps to her mouth and she complies eagerly, she spreads herself in front of him, looking back at his naked form invitingly.

He takes a moment to admire his Marie, her bottom swaying side to side slowly. Her back, covered in a slight sheen from their activities, her eyes hooded and alluring.

Louis was no fool. He knows how men and women desire his wife. How could they not, when she looks so devastatingly exquisite. But he knows that only he can see her like this, solid and breathing, and wanting, before him, disheveled and overwhelmed with lust—while others may only trace her in their minds.

He kisses the back of her thighs, and he hears her giggle from this. He takes note that she’s ticklish there and marvels that he’s learned something new about her. He figures, loving is knowing her.

He trails his kisses upward to her bottom, and couldn’t help but nip at her flesh. And suck. And bite. Marie whimpers and he licks the little pinkish love bites, little secrets he leaves on her skin.

He pets her sex, her most intimate part, and finds her soaked. “Auguste, please.” He hears her cry and he strokes her nub gently. “Shh, my love.” He whispers, before lapping her up with his tongue. The little high-pitched note that Marie makes encourages him to continue. He kisses her there and she slowly inches her hips up more and more, to close more distance between them than was possible.

“Auguste! Please! Inside!” She cries, fists bawled in to the sheets, distressing the fabric. He gives her one last wet kiss before sitting up on his haunches, catching his breath. She looks at him from over her shoulder, an exasperated expression on her face.

“You frustrate me, husband. Must you tease me so?” She laughs.

“As you can see, love,” he gestures to himself, erect and pulsing, “I’m not much better off than you.”

With this, Marie thrusts her hips up and Louis swoons at the sight of her. His head swirls with overwhelming lust to take her. He has been told he’s a gentle man, mild-mannered, and patient. But there is none of that in him as of this moment. Right now, he wants to take his wife, completely.

Marie moans when he surges forward, thrusting inside of her so fully, as his chest touches her back. Her nerves fire at the sensation of him rubbing against her, body to body, skin to sweating skin. Her thoughts cloud with delirious rapture.

To hear her husband murmur incomprehensible words, his breath coming in pants, unreservedly lost in the thrill of seeking satisfaction in her body was mind-numbing. All she could feel were the fabric in balled in to her fists, the wooden post her foot was pushing against, and

Louis, Louis, Louis.

He sneaks a hand between her thighs and rubs her little pearl of pleasure and Marie cries.

“Yes, yes, yes, Louis, yes…” she mumbles, and he felt this irresistible urge to stick his fingers inside her soft, pretty mouth.

She sucks on his fingers vigorously and he languishes at vibrations of her moans. Marie’s moans grow shorter and more frequent, her back spasms and her hips shake violently.

_Close, close, close_ , he thinks.

He picks up the pace, desperate to reach that peak with her. He grips her hips and pulls her in tandem to his thrusts, stronger, deeper inside her, until he feels her walls kiss the tip of his length.

“Marie,” he chants her name in worship, for she deserved nothing less. “Marie…”

“Yes! Oh, deep inside me please. Please, my love!” she cries as her body shakes in orgasm, out of breath and panting.

At the thought of her swelling with his child— a fruit of their love and passion for each other— he freezes holds her firmly in place, spilling himself inside and praying it takes root.

They are enveloped in quiet panting and the heavy scent of lovemaking. He holds her still for a while, feeling his seed deep inside her.

Marie breathes heavily and giggles after a while, and Louis flinches as her giggle squeezes him inside. He couldn’t help but chuckle along. They laugh and bask in the afterglow. The sun has fully seated itself in the sky now, and the rain has stopped. They welcome the morning light with a simultaneous breath, before laughing once more at the spontaneous synchronicity of their actions.

He leans down and tenderly presses a kiss to her awaiting lips. Louis looks straight into her eyes—eyes that held so much care and affection in them.

“I love you, Marie.”

“As I love you, Auguste.”

He touches their foreheads together, as if acknowledging their bond, their mutual love for each other. It took some time, yes, but did it flourish into something so beautiful and treasured. So deeply treasured.

They prepare for the day and go about their daily schedules and responsibilities. His ministers don’t notice, but Blaisdell sends him a quiet raised brow and points out how chipper he seems this morning. He responds with a rueful shrug and the minister shakes his head.

Around late afternoon, Marie enters his office with a stack of papers. Blaisdell takes one look at them and ushers the other ministers out. “Let us resume counsel in another room, far away from here.” He says pointedly.

“The King and Queen have matters of the utmost importance to discuss.”

He closes the door firmly behind them. The two, finally alone, look at each other and shrug, and proceed to discuss matters of state.


End file.
